The Art of Emotional Detachment
by Sweet16AndNeverBeenKissed
Summary: Your parents' always tell you that people change, right? Well, Harry's couldn't.
1. FlashbackPrologue::A Good Man, A Bad Man

Haha... I forgot to write in a **DISCLAIMER **before, because apparently that's necessary now. So, Potterverse is not mine, I can hope that someday it will be, but as of now it is not. Any characters borrowed from the series do not belong to me.

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><p>**Say this word aloud, slowly, with a British accent, and you'll understand. If you don't, then that's just too bad. STBY.<p>

The night was humid.

"The night is fucking humid," Draco remarked to Pansy. Pansy smirked.

"Yes, it gives your hair a sort of a..." she broke off, reaching over to muss his blond locks.

"Don't do that, you bloody chav," he snapped, swatting her hand away. She laughed.

"It's not funny," he muttered, attempting to flatten his hair...again.

"Oh yes, it is, Draco I'm-In-Love-With-My-Hair-Instead-Of-A-Decent-Man Malfoy."

"Shattap."**

"I'll do no such thing," said Pansy, playfully shoving him as they stepped through the oak front doors. A cacophony of voices swallowed them immediately, so that they had to shout to be heard.

"I'll have no more of your nefarious deeds!" shrieked a large, blond woman dressed in a rather tight, red dress, which unfortunately reached only from the middle of her breast to the tops of her thighs.

Draco turned away in disgust, as Pansy was overcome with a fit of giggles.

"Draco," she gasped, after a moment. "Look, she's swatting Harry Potter with her handbag!"

"Excuse me?"

"Look!" Reluctantly, Draco followed his friend's gaze once more and saw that she was indeed correct. Furthermore, to his complete surprise, he found the object of Rita's aggression uncomfortably attractive.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Draco spotted a furious-looking, bushy-haired young woman storming across the Entrance Hall; she collided with his shoulder as she passed, but was evidently too distracted to apologize.

"Oh, no, Granger, that's quite all right," he muttered, making a mental note to nurse a deep grudge.

"And just what do you think you're doing here?" exclaimed an irate Hermione, upon reaching her target.

"Me?" said Rita innocently, quickly shoving her ever-present Quick-Quotes Quill out of sight. "Why, I'm merely reporting on your lovely festivities here, Ms. Granger." Hermione folded her arms.

"Who told you you could do that?" she demanded.

"Why, the charming Ms. Parkinson, of course," said Rita smoothly, seeming to conjure Pansy and Draco from thin air into their circle. Instantly, Hermione rounded on Pansy.

"Why on earth did you invite her?" she demanded. Pansy looked affronted.

"I didn't!"

"Don't lie to me," snapped Hermione threateningly. Bored by these proceedings, Draco glanced at Rita's atrocious crocodile-skin handbag.

"Oh, Rita," he began, his tone saturated with sarcasm, "you simply must tell me where you got your handbag." As Rita began to stammer a response, Draco snatched her hideous accessory from her grasp, throwing it aside. She cried out in surprise, scrambling to retrieve it. Just as she was about to pick it up, Draco flicked his wand, vanishing the handbag.

"She's a stupid bitch," Draco muttered, barely audibly to the group in general.

Harry stared. Had two years in the company of Muggles really changed Malfoy so drastically? Even his appearance seemed to have been altered. Little though he liked to consider it, when Malfoy's disdain was not directed at himself, he found it quite sexy. Apart from this, the other man's tone planted enticing seeds of suspicion in Harry's mind regarding Malfoy's sexuality.

Harry was yanked unceremoniously from his thoughts as Pansy began to clap. After a few moments, Hermione joined her. Draco gave a modest shrug, though it was obvious from his expression that he enjoyed the females' attentions.

"Bravo! Encore!" cried Pansy, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Feeling slightly disconnected, as if he were dreaming, Harry proceeded to approach Malfoy and rest his arm on the latter's shoulders.

Draco felt himself stiffen. Potter's arm felt heavy around his shoulders, making him highly aware of the other man's presence. He smelled quite nice, warm and clean, with the scent of a freshly waxed broom handle underneath. The smell made Draco think of flying; God, he missed flying.

Harry felt Malfoy tense under his arm; after a moment, however, to Harry's complete surprise, the latter seemed to relax against him. Harry was also surprised to find that he and Malfoy were approximately the same height. A moment later, Harry felt Malfoy wrap his arm around his waist. Quite suddenly, a horde of professional Quiddich players, led by Oliver Wood, pushed roughly past the group, jostling Harry and shoving his face into Malfoy's blond hair.

Harry's immediate sensation was quite like having his face pressed into satin sheets. After the briefest of moments, he became aware that Malfoy's hair smelled exactly like a warm cake, fresh from Molly Weasley's oven. The aroma warmed Harry's heart, and before he realized what he was doing, he placed a gentle kiss on Malfoy's temple.

Instantly, Harry felt Malfoy jerk away ever so slightly, his gray eyes asking what Harry had just done.

"Ahem," Pansy interrupted, bringing them sharply to their senses. She and Hermione were staring at the pair as though they had sprouted second heads. Harry and Draco promptly separated.

"Er," mumbled Harry.

"Well, run along," prompted Pansy. "Don't let us keep you."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who hesitated before nodding slightly. Pleasantly surprised, Harry led Malfoy covertly through the crowd.

"Well, I don't like his boyfriend, anyway," remarked Pansy, watching their retreating backs.

"WHAT?" exclaimed Hermione, who for once in her life looked surprised by Harry's actions.

As Harry and Draco climbed the staircase and rounded the corner, the noise abruptly faded and vanished.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, a bit hesitantly.

"Haven't the foggiest," Harry replied, walking aimlessly through the corridors until they came upon a portrait of an attractive young woman, whom Harry recognized from Hermione's copy of Hogwarts, A History as the guardian of the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"You wouldn't like to let us in here, would you?" Harry inquired of the young woman. She smiled mischievously.

"As you wish," she said, sliding forward to allow them entry.

"Wow," breathed Draco. The room in which they found themselves was incredibly cozy and inviting. Despite the fact that nobody was currently living in it, a fire crackled merrily in the large fireplace. Huge, very comfortable-looking armchairs were placed sporadically throughout the room.

"I've never been in here before," Harry remarked, tilting his head to examine the high ceiling.

"Well, duh, of course not," laughed Draco.

"Hey, I've seen the other three."

Before Draco could make a response Harry, turning around, took Draco's left hand in both of his and walked backward toward the center of the room. Pulling Draco closer, Harry wrapped one arm around the former's waist and placed his other hand lightly on Draco's cheek. Draco's right hand rested lightly on Harry's forearm, while his left circled the small of his back. Pressed chest-to-chest, their lips millimeters apart, they felt the warmth of one another's breath. Bracing himself for the practical repercussions, Harry leaned forward just enough to brush his lips against Draco's. This seemed to be all the encouragement that Draco needed. Leaning fully into the embrace, Draco pressed his mouth to Harry's and tilted his head slightly to his left as Harry tipped his to the right. Harry brushed his tongue along the seam of Draco's lips, as though asking for permission, which he was promptly granted. Harry ran his tongue playfully along the roof of Draco's mouth; Draco, meanwhile, probed at the underside of Harry's tongue with his own. Harry began to lead Draco toward the nearest armchair. Pausing for a moment, Draco reached between them to the hem of Harry's t-shirt. He began to gently pull upward, exposing Harry's flesh. Harry assisted him with the last bit, tossing his shirt over his shoulder and, though he couldn't see it, onto a nearby bust of Helga Hufflepuff. They covered the remaining distance to the chair quite easily; Harry promptly lowered himself into its plush depths, pulling Draco down to straddle his legs. Pressing light kisses along Draco's angular jaw, Harry untucked Draco's shirttails, gradually reaching his hands beneath the thin fabric. He ghosted his fingers over Draco's stomach and chest; as he did so, he noted that Draco still bore scars from the unfortunate Sectumsempra incident several years earlier.

Meanwhile, Draco began fondling Harry's chest and caressing his nipples. This simple act seemed to set Harry over the edge. Grabbing Draco's shirt by the inside of its collar, Harry tore it savagely from his shoulders.

Immediately after Draco's shirt was removed, Harry's hand dove straight for the fly of Draco's jeans. Harry was mostly successful in getting Draco's button undone by tearing at it blindly. After a beat, however, Draco managed to bat Harry's hands away. He proceeded to kiss a flaming trail down Harry's chest, hunching his shoulders and folding his chin to his chest in order to do so. He slid from Harry's lap, stroking his fingertips along the other man's sides as he went. He landed softly on his knees, nudging Harry's legs apart and settling between them. The feeling of Harry's jean-clad legs along the length of his sides was delightful. Draco then ran his hands up the span of Harry's thighs from knee to hip. As he did so, Harry buried his fingers in Draco's soft, silky locks. The blond slowly brought his mouth to the button of Harry's jeans while his hands were busy caressing Harry's inner thighs. He was careful to avoid the obvious bulge that was continuing to develop between the other man's legs.

Draco's fingertips brought an explosion of sensation to Harry's crotch. He gave a slight gasp, tensing involuntarily and accidentally yanking on a large chunk of Draco's hair. Draco paused in his ministrations and cringed. In apology, Harry bent down to gently kiss the top of his head. After a moment, Draco continued in his endeavor, and Harry understood that he was forgiven.

Draco undid Harry's button with his teeth, pushing the zipper down with his tongue. Pulling away from Harry's groin, he brought his hands to Harry's trainers and ripped them off. He then clutched at the waistband of Harry's jeans and pulled them slowly, tantalizingly, down Harry's thighs, revealing a prominent erection. He continued to pull at Harry's jeans until he had completely removed them and cast them aside.

Quite suddenly, the portrait hole was flung aside, and in stumbled Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff from Harry and Draco's year.

"What, what, what are you DOING?"

Nervous that Zacharias would draw much unneeded attention, Draco began to collect Harry's clothing and toss it at him before yanking his wand from the magically enlarged right pocket of his jeans and piecing his shirt back together.

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are a couple of shirt lifters!" Zacharias screamed after them, with altogether unnecessary volume.

They sprinted along the corridors, Draco leading in some random direction. After a few minutes, they came to a halt in front of a heavy, wooden door. Sighing, Draco turned to Harry.

"D'you know the password?" he asked. Harry stepped forward.

"Bubble Bath Extravaganza," he said, and Draco snickered behind him. The door clicked open, and Harry pushed inside. They paused for a moment and looked around.

"Oh, no," groaned Draco, gesturing toward a portrait of a mermaid atop a glistening rock. "We've got to get her out of here." Harry frowned.

"How do we do that?"

"Watch." Draco strode over to the painting, withdrawing his wand from his pocket and brandishing it at the mermaid. He whispered an incantation, and the mermaid shrieked as though burned and abruptly flopped from her portrait. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't that hurt her?" he asked, shocked but slightly awed. Draco shrugged.

"No, I don't think it does. Besides, it's awful trying to do anything with her giggling at you."

"Er...Well, thanks." They were silent for a few moments.

"Well," said Harry finally. "That was..." he trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Interesting?" Draco supplied.

"Malfoy-Draco, I...We could-"

"I can't," Draco interrupted, looking genuinely afraid for the first time. "I-I just shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because, you idiot, you live here, in the Wizarding world, and...And I don't," he lied.

"You mean you weren't planning on this being a one-off?" Harry intoned. Sighing, Draco ran a hand through his blond hair, mussing it slightly.

"Potter...I know this is ridiculous, but-" He was interrupted, however, when Harry stepped forward, cupping the back of his head with his right hand, tilting Draco's head slightly to his right. He brought his lips to Draco's gently, laying a long yet chaste kiss to his mouth. Draco returned his kiss for a moment before pulling away, allowing Harry to continue holding his head.

"I'm attracted to you..." he sighed. "I think I'd rather not be, but I am. Undeniably so." As though to prove his point, Draco leaned into Harry, and clamped his mouth upon the latter's. He bit gently at Harry's bottom lip, electing a small gasp from the other man. Draco then expertly slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth and began stroking the latter's tongue with his own. On an impulse Harry pressed his still erect member, however restrained by clothing, into Draco's lower body. Draco gave a slight gasp, and this seemed to encourage Harry. Slowly, lightly, he traced his fingertips down Draco's bare torso, eventually coming to rest on his ass. Draco stiffened slightly, but allowed Harry to gently stroke it. However, as Harry's hands began to venture below his waistband, he broke away. The two men stared at one another for what seemed an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Draco said finally, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse, before turning and fleeing the bathroom. Harry watched him go, suddenly aware that it was extremely cold. He longed to chase after Draco, press against him once more, and feel the other man's skin on his. But he merely stood there, his penis throbbing slightly with the memory of Draco's fingers caressing his thighs.


	2. A Brief Affair

The last rays of the sun streamed in through the window, bathing Draco's bedroom in warm, golden light. He ought to have left fifteen minutes ago, but found himself, like so often, drawn to the view outside his window. It wasn't particularly striking in itself-merely a dirty London street corner. However, Draco always found himself in awe of the early evening light as it stole over the city below, seeming to bathe the nondescript buildings in mystery and anticipation. It lifted his heart in the same way as flying-which, he reflected bitterly, he hadn't been able to do for years for fear of being seen by Muggles.

Muggles. They were everywhere. Having grown up away from the non-magic population, Draco had never fully appreciated the care with which adult witches and wizards treated their magic-until he was forced to see for himself. He had not performed magic in nearly a week, and he was beginning to feel distinctly ill, as though a part of him were withering away.

Sighing, he picked up his wand from the bedside table, running his fingers over its smooth surface. He longed to use it, but he knew that he could not. Someone might see.

Still, he could not stop himself from pocketing it-until it occurred to him that Xander would want him to leave it here. With a feeling of immense sadness, he gently laid the hawthorn wand back where he'd found it, and departed.

"You're late," Xander greeted him, throwing open his front door. Draco sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. Xander waved this aside.

"And I suppose you've got your wand, haven't you?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't!" snapped Draco. Dammit, not using magic was difficult enough without being constantly accused of doing so.

"Show me," said Xander, folding his arms.

"You're being ridiculous, Xander."

"Please." Sighing, Draco turned out his empty pockets. At this Xander seemed satisfied, and his aggressive mood evaporated.

"All right. Shall we go, then?" Draco, however, was not so easily mollified. Though he nodded and followed Xander out into the cool evening air, he could think of nothing other than his wand, lying abandoned on his bedside table.

They walked in silence for several minutes, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Hope it doesn't rain tonight," said Xander finally, gesturing toward the clouds gathering threateningly overhead.

"Mmm-hmm," Draco muttered, without looking. Xander frowned.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." This was patently untrue, but it was better than the truth. The truth would require a great deal of explanation he didn't care to give, and besides that Xander might not understand. He didn't like it when Draco mentioned magic.

"Tell me," said Xander, frowning slightly.

"I don't want to."

"Please." Draco sighed. He knew Xander wasn't going to give up.

"Come on, Draco. I care about you and I want to make you feel better," Xander pleaded. Draco stared down at the cracked pavement. He knew that what Xander said was true, but he couldn't bring himself to explain what was bothering him. Xander would become annoyed, as he always did, at the mention of magic.

"You wouldn't understand." As Draco said this, there was a loud clap of thunder overhead, and it began to rain. Xander looked at the ground for a moment.

"It's about your stupid wand again, isn't it?" he muttered.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you," snapped Draco.

Xander stopped walking and screamed, "You care more about a piece of wood than you do about me!"

Draco whirled around to face him, a blank look overwhelming his visage. To Xander, Draco appeared to be crying, but he couldn't be sure because of the rain spattering them.

"No, Xander. I lo- I lo..." And just like that Draco turned and ran. Xander watched Draco's back recede from view, his face stinging from the cold London rain pelting it.

By the time Draco returned home, the rain had turned to sleet. He was freezing to the bone, his clothes sodden through, his hair dripping wet-but he didn't care. He'd known already that it wouldn't be a pleasant evening, but he hadn't imagined how very unpleasant it would turn out to be. He'd thought talking to Xander would make him feel better, but all it had accomplished was angering them both. He missed the early days of their relationship-they'd been so much happier, and they'd never fought. But they'd begun to have trouble, Draco reflected, when he'd revealed to Xander that he was a wizard.

He pulled the door roughly open, throwing off his sodden jacket as he entered his flat. Without pausing, he yanked open the bathroom door, stopping to examine his reflection in the mirror. His hair was soaking wet, and his normally pale skin looked nearly colorless. His eyes, by contrast, were rather red. His face had been so wet with rain, he reflected, that he'd apparently failed to notice his tears.

Some months later:

'Who the bloody fucking hell does he think he is? Dumping a fucking Malfoy? Malfoys don't get dumped!' Draco thought as he gulped down his third shot of lime laced tequila. He was too distracted to enjoy the flavor, and was simply sucking the liquid down for its alcohol content.

It was barely half passed seven in the evening and Draco was already well on his way to slap-happy drunken bliss. He had stumbled into the nearest Muggle pub after his "long-term domestic partner", Xander, informed Draco that he had gotten a little to stagnant for his taste.

'We never go out anymore Draco…! I want to have fun and act like we did when we first got together!' Xander's final complaints still resonated through Draco's head as he tried oh-so-hard to forget anyone named Xander ever existed. Draco had simply stuttered at Xander's remarks and when that lost Xander's attention momentarily Draco had nearly pulled out his wand to hex the slightly younger man, recalling just in time that Xander was a Muggle and that it was forbidden to use magic in their presence. It had been a difficult task to keep Xander in the dark about his Wizarding heritage for the extent of their five year relationship and many times over Draco had been left reprimanding himself for near mishaps with his wand around his now ex-lover.

A sharp, sputtering cough directly to his left pulled Draco from his musings all too fast and he found himself in a barely lit, spinning room filled with a suffocating mass of people gyrating to the beat of an overly-loud 'brit-pop' song blaring over their numerous conversations. He tasted vodka on his cottony tongue and realized that he must have switched to the beverage at some point during his trip down a recently constructed lane in his memory. He cast a whispered but slurred tempus and was shocked to realize that almost four hours had passed since he had arrived.

Draco turned slowly to his left gazing at the hazy figure that had pulled him from his mind, albeit purely by accident. Draco barely had time to ascertain that the blur facing him was a handsome, dark haired man before he was being pressed into the counter of the bar by the persistent, hot mouth of said blur. The idea of fighting the man off of him briefly flittered across Draco's mind when suddenly that thought was drown out by another. The second thought seemed to scream at him about how Xander was no longer in the picture and how Draco could snog the brains out of whomever he wanted, even if that whom was a perfect stranger. He took all of two seconds to think through what he was about to embark on and pulled the man with his tongue down his throat tight to his own slender frame, finally engaging in the heated embrace his mouth was involved in.

Draco tasted gin and orange in the mystery man's mouth and let out a brief, all-but-silent moan as the flavor mingled with that of the vodka in his own mouth. He took a moment to marvel at the flavor before realizing that he was practically having fully clothed sex, with someone he didn't know, at the counter of a Muggle pub. He pulled his mouth away from the other man's and shout-whispered in a faltering, raw tone, "My flat's down the block, follow me." He did his best to shove the stranger off and grasped his forearm tightly before wading through the sea of people toward the door. The stranger followed willingly in Draco's wake but allowed him to keep his hold on his arm. When they made it to the back alley and into cool night air of London Draco gulped in a few deep breathes before marching determinedly in the direction of his flat, releasing his grip on the man behind him. The man followed Draco stumbling, and tripping the whole way down the narrow, dank alleyway.

Draco trudged up the few concrete steps from the street to the door of his flat and turned on the landing to look at the man he had brought home. He couldn't make out the man's features for they were obscured; partly by skewed shadows cast by the street lights high above them, but mostly by Draco's own drunkenness. He could, however, tell that the man was tall and built in stature with a muscular frame and toned arms that were hanging limply from his broad, squared shoulders. A single coherent thought seem to surface in Draco's head as he gazed at the man, that he, Draco, was extremely attracted to this individual, to the point that it made his knees weak. Or was that the alcohol again?

The stranger was standing on the sidewalk before the steps, seemingly phased by the idea of climbing them, as a result of his own intoxication. "Come on then!" grunted Draco motioning with his hands toward the door. Draco turned around and began to fumble with his keys in the lock. He jimmied the door open and swept inside pulling the other man along by his recently available shirt collar. They crossed the threshold into a dim entry hall, as soon as the door was closed behind them the man grasped the wrist that was attached to the hand clutching his collar with one hand, placing the other firmly on Draco's waist; he turned Draco around slamming Draco's back against the sealed front door. Pressing a heavy, hot, stirring kiss to Draco's mouth, he moved his hands between their chests, seizing a fistful of clothe with one hand on either side, with the button trail down the middle, he pulled hard in opposing directions causing Draco's shirt buttons to fly everywhere, landing with soft, metallic "Pinks!" on the hard wood floor about the foyer; all the while exploring the great crevasse that is Draco's mouth with his own tongue. When Draco felt warm hands begin to glide over and caress the smooth skin of his bare chest he let out a pleased whimper into the other man's mouth. The stranger roughly broke the kiss and just a Draco started to protest began a scorching, moist trail of kisses down Draco's neck and chest. Draco arched off the door into the other man as the latter took one of Draco's erect nipples into his mouth, nibbling and teasing the sensitive nub mercilessly. "Oh Xander!" moaned Draco as a tidal wave of pleasure washed over him.

The mystery man promptly ceased his ministrations and pulled away from Draco entirely. Draco whined immediately at the loss of contact and reluctantly opened his eyes to ascertain what had caused the abrupt lack thereof. The other man looked distraught and Draco opened his mouth to ask what was causing the abrupt discomfort when realized what he had exclaimed. Draco snapped his mouth shut and busied himself with descending the hallway to flip the light switch on. A cherry blush was the first thing Draco noted about his companions face and he was certain he had a similar color blotting his own face to match. A long, awkward silence followed during which the two men were looking anywhere but at each other.

While staring at his entirely ordinary boots like they were the most interesting thing he'd ever set eyes on the stranger hesitantly asked, "Err… Uhh… should I umm… go…?"

"No… no, not yet. I didn't even get your name or a good look at you for that matter." Replied Draco with a nervous laugh.

"Is Erikson… Erickson Stone, Erik for short." Supplied the stranger with a timid smile. "And you are…?"

While leading Erik to the parlor Draco responded, "Draco, just Draco. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?"

"Tea, just tea. Thanks." As Draco turned, heading for the kitchen Erik asked, "Draco? Could I borrow your loo?"

"Down the hall, third door on the left." Draco replied, gesturing as he walked away.


	3. Hermione Cares, Does Draco?

Draco spent no time sulking over his break up. He had realized the night of their first big fight that he didn't love Xander anymore, but he had tried to make it work. He hated that Xander hated magic. That had been their end, hadn't it? After all, how could a Wizard possibly be in a relationship with a Muggle who hated a part of them? Xander hated half of Draco's heart. It would never have worked out, that's what Draco convinced himself of.

He packed up everything, had what was Xander's shipped to the other man's mother's home, quite his job at the London Central Library and moved to Hogsmeade. He hadn't been there more than a week before none other than Hermione Granger came up from Hogwarts to wish him welcome, but that's not all she was wishing for.

Hermione knocked at the door of Draco's small apartment and waited. She had gone over every scenario of how this visit may transpire and knew she was prepared for them all, but she was still nervous. The only thing she was unsure about was how Draco really felt about the whole thing. Pansy had said that Draco refused to talk about Harry with her and that he had given no hint of his feelings for the other man. Why did those two have to make this so hard on one another?

When Minerva had come to Hermione with Pansy in tow and asked if she would assist Pansy in engineering a reunion for their graduating year and the surrounding, Hermione had warily accepted. She had been uneasy about working with Pansy, but to her surprise, Pansy had been very cordial and the two of them had established a comfortable friendship. Hermione had had no idea that Harry and Draco would react so strongly to one another and they had also acted distinctly opposite to how Hermione thought they would. However, Pansy had had some idea about the two apparently. "Come on Hermione!" Pansy had said, "It's so obvious! Even in school those two couldn't keep their eyes… or hands off each other." Hermione supposed that was true, they did used to fight all the time. Their spats had usually been verbal, but when they had gotten dangerous it had almost always been physical, not magical.

Draco heard a knock at the door and stood up from his reading to answer it.

"Granger, what a surprise, I haven't seen you since the reunion. Did you come to apologize for smashing into me then?" Draco said snidely. Hermione's face flashed with confusion while she tried to puzzle out what incident Draco was referring to. Being the clever woman that she is, it didn't take Hermione much time to figure it out.

"Oh, yes, that. I am sorry, Malfoy. I had intended on apologizing later, but you got a bit caught up. That's actually what I came to talk to you about. May I come in?" Draco moved aside and gestured Hermione inside.

"Oh, and welcome to Hogsmeade." Hermione added. She noted that Draco's apartment was comfortable despite its lack of space, magically expanded no doubt. She liked its tasteful décor and was awed by the portrait hanging in the sitting room. The painting was of dirty street corner Hermione thought was reminiscent of London; 'although', she thought, 'it does have a certain captivating mastic about it, and it is done very well.' She walked forward to inspect it closer and was shocked to see that it was signed by Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy, you painted this?" Hermione questioned.

"No, I just have a nasty habit of claiming other people's work with my signature." Draco replied, sarcastically.

"It's beautiful." Hermione said, choosing to ignore Draco's comment.

"Was that a complement, Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy, it was." Hermione replied, "May I sit?"

"Why, yes, of course. Where are my manners?" Draco answered, "Tea?"

"No, thank you." Hermione replied, sitting on the plush navy blue futon. 'He certainly has grown up.' She thought.

"How may I help you?" Draco asked, taking a seat opposite her in a white arm chair.

"Well, I'll get right to it, shall I?" Hermione replied, "Harry has been a wreck the last eight months since the reunion. He had been substituting as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor while Charlie Weasley was in Egypt with the rest of the Weasleys for a wedding, but Minerva had to ask him to step down after his teaching became so abysmal that several students filed complaints with her. After that he went back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place and none of saw him for weeks. According to his house elf, Kreecher, Harry was sulking about and not going out at all. He'd taken an extended vacation from the Ministry, and he was having Kreecher bring him anything he needed. I took Pansy over there during a weekend. Harry was living out of his bed. He looked awful, and smelled it too. Pansy and I convinced him to come out into the world again. We got him cleaned up and got him to go back to work, but not before we made him tell us why he's so depressed. It's because of you, Malfoy. He's so broken up because of you saying you couldn't see him. You lied to him, Malfoy. Pansy told me about Xander, she also told me that your relationship was having problems. She told me about the split."

Draco sputtered. What was he suppose to say to that?

"Meet him for dinner, Malfoy," She passed him a business card. "7:30 on Friday, the reservation's under 'Granger.' I'll make sure he's there." Then, she stood, said goodbye and walked out of Draco's apartment.

'What's today?' Draco thought. It was Wednesday.


	4. Reflections In Black and White

The rest of Wednesday passed madly slowly, as did Thursday. Most of Friday, however, zipped by because Draco had his first day of work at the local apothecary, Bortman's Potions Ingredients. His job was inventory. He was to keep the shelves stocked, keep track of said stock and order more stock when necessary. He loved being around potions ingredients again.

Now, Draco was fully dressed for dinner, and immaculately so if he didn't say so himself. He was wearing a breezy, drawing, deep green button up with the first three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his favorite dark jeans that made his arse look fantastic and black not-too-dressy dress shoes. His hair, now just to the bottom of his ears and cut to soften his angular jaw enough that it didn't mar his whole face as it had when he was young, was perfectly mussed, looking sexy as ever. He was pacing around his sitting room checking his watch ever three minutes. He didn't even need the thing to know what time it was. 7:23 p.m. he read even though he already knew. 'I can show up now and not be so early I seem desperate to see him.' He thought. He flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and walked down Diagon Alley to the restaurant on Granger's card. He walked through the front doors and up to the hostess's podium.

"The name of your reservation, please?" The woman asked politely.

"Ganger." Draco answered. The hostess looked up sharply and regarded Draco with an odd look.

"You'll be dining with Mr. Potter?" She asked, a hint of venom in her voice.

Looking affronted Draco bit back, "Yes, I am. Show me the damn table." The woman cringed and stepped back from her station. She led Draco toward the back of the half full restaurant. Draco looked feverishly around for Harry, when he spotted him his heart jumped a beat. He brushed passed the rude hostess and b-lined for Harry's table. When Harry saw him coming he stood and stepped away from the table, his face twisted into a look that was the personification of surprise. Draco decided to start with the last words he had spoken to Harry.

"I'm sorry." He said before he took Harry in his arms and kissed him deeply, relishing the flavor Harry's mouth, a flavor he hadn't realized he missed. Draco ran the tip of his tongue along the entire out line of Harry's lips. He felt Harry's arms wrap around his shoulders as Harry's mouth opened up for him. Draco darted his tongue along Harry's front teeth before swiping it down and over the latter's own tongue. He then withdrew his tongue and pulled his face away from Harry's. Harry slipped his arms under Draco's biceps and hugged him tightly.

"I missed you." Harry whispered before he pulled away from Draco and returned to his seat at the table. Draco came back to his senses and noticed that the restaurant had gone completely silent. He swirled around and glared at the other occupants of the room before taking his seat opposite Harry.

Shortly after Draco was seated the atmosphere of the restaurant returned to normal—mostly. Draco kept glancing sharply around every few minutes and shooting visual daggers at those with the audacity to stare. Harry thought the patrons were simply shocked that "The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The-Chosen-One-Saviour-Of-The-Wizarding-World" had just intimately embraced another man, in the middle of public, and that Draco should lay off them a bit; but he wouldn't dare tell Draco that, Harry was already painfully aware of how fragile this—thing with them happened to be. Besides, Harry found Draco's protectiveness to be very endearing. However Hermione had managed to get Draco here, well, Harry was eternally grateful.

Little did Harry know Hermione had only paid Draco a little visit and lured Harry there with promises of almost Molly Weasley quality Treacle Tart minus all the fuss. Lately, Mrs. Weasley had taken to pestering Harry about finding some stability in his life, whether that be a man, a woman or a steady job, Molly didn't seem to care. She just seemed to want Harry happy, as always. Also, Hermione had failed to mention to Harry that Draco-Gorgeous Bane of Harry's Dreams-Malfoy would be showing up in her place. Hermione was yet another one of Harry's loved ones that just wanted him to be happy. Did Draco want Harry to be happy as well?

Harry had come to the realization that he wanted just that for Draco after the other man had decided not to identify him for Bellatrix Lestrange, his own father and a room full of Death Eaters or bloody Voldemort! Harry had fallen into a revaluation of sorts after that little episode. Draco's choice had been made that day. It seemed to be the only choice he had made against his father at that point in his life, but it had been a pivotal one. Harry had then begun to run through every interaction he and Draco had ever had, first with their original meeting in Madam Malkin's robe shop then their second meeting on the Hogwarts Express. He viewed them from every angle he could think of and was drawn to the same very reasonable and rather innocent conclusion. He then came to Draco nabbing Neville Longbottom's Remebrall. Draco was doing what was expected of back then. What was expected of him by his father, by Voldemort, by the Hogwarts students and staff and most of all by Harry himself. He had only been conforming, caving like a… human. And those few years ago, now thinking of his past self as a naïve child, Harry realized that, even though he assumed quite the opposite at the time, Draco had been human, entirely human. Harry thought of everything, every faux pas Draco had had while they were children and came to the same end every single time.

That was the point at which Harry crossed _that_ line, the very thin, vague line between utter loathing and the muddled mess that wasn't as- predictable and… simple as complete hatred. He had been confused, perplexed even. He couldn't place Draco anymore. Draco was no longer evil, Harry knew that for sure. He hadn't been sure what to do. He had attempted to explaining his then new development to Hermione, but had been hesitant and stumbled over his words. She had tried her best to comprehend what it was Harry was trying to convey, but his reasoning, or lack thereof, was somewhat beyond her, as it always had been, leaving the same her with the same feelings she had always had about Malfoy. Harry had always been poor at consoling people and when the time came for others to console him; he had run, pushed away his Gryffindor bravery and hid. When Cedric had been killed Harry had refused to speak of the incident after accounting what had occurred to Dumbledore. When Sirius had been killed Harry had distracted himself with the mystery that is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. When Fred, Tonks, Remus and countless others were killed in the war Harry had thrown himself into the rebuilding of the Wizarding World. In the six brief years since the horrific tragedies of the war the entire Wizarding World of Britain had made a complete turnaround. The Ministry of Magic and other such government organizations had been completely overhauled and Harry had orchestrated practically all of it.

Then he had vanished from the spotlight, evaporated away from society. Harry was by no means a recluse. He still saw all of his close friends rather frequently and attended low key charity events occasionally, but he avoided reporters and media advocated like the plague. He didn't want to talk about it, any of it. It was as though Harry pretended his life before the age of eighteen didn't exist, he had just come to be. He didn't respond to the familiar _Prophet _headline tags, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World, et cetera anymore, although the last still rang true. Harry needed someone to talk about it all with and Hermione thought maybe, just maybe the one person that always treated Harry as simply Harry, not some embodiment of good and morality to be placed on a pedestal above all else, would be the perfect sounding room for her best friend.


	5. Skipping the Treacle Tart

So far things were going swimmingly. Draco was being charming, funny and flirtatious, Harry couldn't have hoped for a better first date! Or did this count as their second date? However, when the wizarding waitress (who happened to be the hostess who had _greeted_ Draco earlier) came by to ask for their orders and proceeded to stare blatantly first at Harry, then at Draco and then acutely at the small distance between their chairs at the far end of the table Draco slapped on a maniac grin like a shark that had bumped into a prospective meal; yet, when Harry rested his hand on Draco's nearest thigh Draco lost all of his Malfoy composure in an instant and jump so high in his seat as to bang his knees on the underside of the table. This caused Harry to burst out laughing and Draco's cheeks to ting pink, but it didn't stop Harry from rubbing small circles with his fingers on the inside of Draco's thigh nearer to his knee.

Dinner was mediocre and Harry found himself wishing he had had the option to pick a better restaurant for his date with—Hermione! 'I have to relax about this.' Harry thought to himself, 'Draco's not judging me over the choice in restaurant.'

When the meal was done the waitress offered a dessert menu, plucking it from her hands Draco began to read off the choices. To a majority he tsked and Harry was in agreement with the tsks all but over the Treacle Tart which he wanted to try but resisted in favor of a more—suave opportunity.

"Listen, this may be a bit forward of me, but if you will give me the pleasure of walking home with me I have quite the talent for strawberries and cream."

"I… Since when do Gryffindors care about being viewed as too forward?" Draco light-heartedly teased.

"We don't. Come home with me and eat fruit with whipped topping, Draco." Harry replied while counting out the money required to pay the bill plus a _very_ generous tip.

Leaning in close to Harry's ear Draco whispered, "Certainly, Harry, I'd love to. Oh, and don't tip the waitress, she was very rude to me when I came in."

"Ah." Replied Harry as he retracted the tip he had added to the pile of coins in his hand.

Wrapped up in cloaks and ready to depart Harry presented his arm for Draco to take. Smiling, Draco tucked his own arm around Harry's from the underside and placed the palm of his other hand on the top of Harry's forearm.

"Shall we then?" Harry asked.

"We shall." Draco replied, "Oh, and Harry? I don't know if you consciously decided that asking me to walk with you would be way sexier than _Apparating_, but good move." Blushing, Harry pushed open the front door of the restaurant and stepped into Diagon Alley with none other than Draco Malfoy on his arm. Unbeknownst to the pair, the moment they exited the room it exploded into a cacophony of chatter about the 'Great Harry Potter' being _gay _of all things.

Conversation on the walk started light enough, with Draco teasing Harry about his popularity and spouting off mock Daily Prophet headlines like "The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-never-produce-an-heir" and things of that nature. Harry decided to not get upset about it thinking that by saying the things he was Draco was poking fun at himself along with Harry. But their chitchat eventually fell on the night of the reunion. Harry and Draco both blushed at the memory and Draco tried to get off the subject, but Harry knew that it needed talking about.

"And that's what Pansy said after I came down to the party without you. That I looked flush—"

"Draco?" Harry interrupted. "I—we… It's just that, well, I… Er, I… Draco—"

"Spit it out, Harry. Whatever it is I can handle it." Draco said, his face the picture of patient confidence, But Harry heard the slight drop of Draco's voice when the other man said he could handle what Harry had to say. Draco was worried; worried that Harry was going to say something Draco wasn't going to like. Well he was just going to have to prove him wrong, wasn't he?

"Draco," Harry said in his most confident voice. "I want to talk about what happened between us, at the reunion. I want to tell you why I did and said what I did and said." Draco considered this a moment.

"Go on then." Draco replied. Gathering his words Harry began.

"I realized something when you refused to identify me for Bellatrix and your father. I realized that you weren't what everybody thought you were. I realized there is more to you, Draco." At this point Harry stopped walking and turned to his companion. When Harry looked Draco in the face he saw that it was open, expressing all that he felt. His eyes were pleading, but down trodden, like he was expecting the worst, his brows were set low, furrowed, he looked as though he were _trying_ to figure out what Harry was going to say before he said it, his mouth was tight, set in a way that spoke of Draco's ill ease. Harry knew how to fix this.

"I realized that you were someone I wanted to get to know, someone I wanted to be friends with. I realized that I already knew Malfoy, but that I wanted to get to know _Draco._

"At the reunion, when I saw you across the room, my heart sped up. You are breath taking, Draco." Harry cupped Draco's face in his right hand and turned Draco's eyes up to look into his own. "I like you Draco, and I _want_ to know you." Gazing at Draco's face Harry smiled. He saw all of the worry clear from Draco's eyes, he watched Draco's brow relax and he felt his heart do a little flip in his chest when he saw Draco's mouth loosen into an easy, happy smile. Draco was _happy_. Harry was surprised for a second when he saw Draco leaning toward him, but he relaxed when Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and embraced him. Draco dropped his chin to Harry's shoulder and sighed.

"You're a sweet man, Harry." Draco whispered. "I want to get to know you also." Draco pulled away a bit and brought his lips to Harry's cheek. "Now, someone said they were going to make me dessert." Draco said, his lips brushing Harry's cheek with each word.

"Right." Harry replied. "Mind if _Apparate_ us the rest of the way?" Draco pulled away from Harry and shook his head, throwing out his left hand for Harry to take. Grasping Draco's warm hand Harry _Apparate_d them both to the alleyway across the street from Grimmauld Place.

"Here we are." Harry said. "Hold on just a second." Digging his wand out of his pocket Harry waved it about in an expert pattern and the buildings across the way began to shake. They split apart revealing another, similar building in-between the other two. Stowing his wand away, Harry reached out and wrapped his right arm around Draco's waist. Harry pulled Draco along with him across the street and up the steps to the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Harry opened the door and tugged Draco inside.

"Welcome to Number 12." Harry said, smiling and gesturing grandiosely about the entrance hall. Harry had gone through the pains of reconstructing Number 12 over the last few years and his work had paid off. Harry had asked Bill Weasley from the Curse Breakers division to come by and get rid of Mad-Eye Moody's scare tactics and find a way to unbind Walburga Black's portrait from the house. It had taken Bill nearly a week to crack Moody's curses and Bill had had to call an entire crew of Curse Breakers to remove Mrs. Black's portrait. Now the hall was refurbished in creams and dark wood making it a pleasant room to first impress a guest, its charms worked on Draco.

"Harry, this is beautiful." Draco said as he ran his hands over an ebony bench carved with intricate roses and vinery.

"Thank you." Harry replied, blushing. Harry stepped over behind Draco and gripped the other man's shoulders. He proceeded to turn Draco around and pull Draco's cloak from his body. Harry deposited Draco's cloak on the coat rack, removed his own and placed it next to Draco's. He then started to walk toward the stairs leading to the basement floor.

"Coming?" Harry asked.

"Hum? Oh, yes. I was just enjoying the view." Draco replied, dragging his eyes away from Harry's behind.

When they got down stairs Harry began to pull bowls and things from the cabinets in his basement kitchen. Draco took a seat at the kitchen table to watch Harry work. He plucked the cream carton and the strawberries from the refrigerator and pulled the powdered sugar container and the vanilla extract from their places with the rest of the baking items. He poured a good amount of the cream into the metal bowl of his counter mixer. He set the mixer on medium and stepped over to the sink to wash the strawberries. After washing the berries Harry turned off the mixer and spooned a bit of powder sugar into the bowl. He added a dash of vanilla and turned the mixer on to high. He patted the berries dry and poured them into a ceramic bowl that he placed on the table. He then walked back to the counter and stopped the mixer. Harry spooned the whipped cream into another, matching ceramic bowl and set that on the table. He then put the cream, powdered sugar and vanilla away and padded over to where Draco was sitting. Harry reached down and gripped a strawberry by its greenery; he dragged the fruit through the cream and pulled it up. He presented the dipped berry to Draco, expecting the other man to take the fruit from his hand; instead Draco leaned forward and bit into the strawberry where Harry held it.

"Mmmm…" Draco hummed. Harry stood stock-still in shock. Draco stuck out his tongue and licked up a drop of juice that had slipped down Harry's fingers.

"Oh God." Harry said as he sat down in the nearest chair.

"Harry? Do you have somewhere more comfortable we might enjoy this?"

"Wha? Oh, yeah, sure." Harry stood, scooped up the bowls and walked up the two flights of stairs to his favorite living room with Draco in tow 'oohing' and 'aahing' the whole way. Harry had decided to make the entire second floor a massive sitting/living/drawing room. He had knocked all of the inside walls out and magically reinforced the room to keep the ceiling from caving and collapsing. The back, left corner of the room was dominated by a massive white, plush carpet over the pale hardwood floor and overstuffed pillows in various light blues and the back wall was claimed by a substantial fireplace. The inside of the hearth was done in pale brick while the mantle was made of beautifully carved light cherry wood. There was a large six-seater sofa toward the middle of the room with a low light wood coffee table nearby. Large glass shelves were set in the wall on the right behind the sofa. They were crowded with books and tomes and were accompanied by to plush light blue arm chairs that shared side table between them. The wall to the left of the stairs was covered with photographs in black and silver frames. Some of the pictures were still Muggle photos while a majority were moving magic shots. Toward the middle was a red framed full _Prophet_ page that had a moving picture of Ron, Hermione and Harry standing in front of the Burrow in their formal wear with their arms swung about one another's shoulders while they all smiled brightly at the camera. The picture was taken during Bill and Fleur's wedding, one of the few Harry had been smiling in. The article surrounding entailed the whole of their quest of Horcrux destruction when they should have been in their Seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry kept that article honorary because it was the only thing the _Prophet_ had ever printed about him that was completely true, Hermione had written it.

Harry walked to the sofa and, toeing out of his shoes, sat Indian style on the sofa's far end closest to the fireplace. He set the dishes on the table and relaxed into the plush chair. Pulling his wand from his pocket Harry _Accioed _his favorite dessert wine and a pair of glasses. Draco drifted over and settled next to Harry on the sofa. Harry uncorked the bottle and poured them both generous glasses. Handing Draco his glass Harry settled in. Draco, setting his glass on the table, untied his shoes and removed them. He lay on his back with his head in Harry's lap.

"You didn't come for dessert, did you?" Harry asked looking down at Draco.

"Did you really invite me for dessert, Harry?" Draco asked in return gazing up at Harry from the latter's lap.

"No, I suppose not."

They sat in silence for awhile, Draco sitting up every now and again to take a sip of his wine; Harry, on the other hand, was practically guzzling his as a result of his nervousness. Harry had already had two full glasses and was well into his third when Draco spoke.

"Harry, what's your first memory?"

"Er, I guess it's of my aunt Petunia telling me to go wash my, in her words, 'filthy freak hands.' I was playing in the backyard and my cousin pushed me from behind causing me to fall and scrape my palms on the ground." Harry answered while looking over his photo collection.

"How old were you?" Draco asked.

"Mmm… Maybe four. Why do you ask?" Harry answered with a heavy sigh.

"This, my lying in your lap staring up at you, it reminded me of my first memory. I was three I think and had had a nightmare. I threw a tantrum when the house elves tried to comfort me when I woke, so they went to fetch my mother. She curled me up in her lap and petted my hair until I fell back asleep. Anyway, that's not important. You said 'filthy freak hands.' Why would your aunt say that to you?" Draco asked sitting up, placing his feet on the floor and scooting closer to Harry.

"Because my Muggle relatives detested any and everything magical." Harry answered bitterly. "Draco, I really don't want to talk about them."

"Sure, that's okay." Draco returned. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Let's not." Harry said as he set his glass on the coffee table next to Draco's. Draco started to protest but was quickly silenced when Harry captured Draco's lips with his own.


End file.
